


Cloak and Swagger (Stagger)

by havisham



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Adaptations - All Media Types, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst and Humor, Gen, Manpain, Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-02
Updated: 2011-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine goes questin', hoping not to learn more about himself in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloak and Swagger (Stagger)

There is a part of Gwaine - _a dark, dangerous part_ \- that longs for destruction. That is what Gaius says as he patches Gwaine after up yet another tavern brawl. Gwaine wrinkles his perfect nose in amusement. (And it is still perfect, no thug’s fist have marred it yet. In it's own way, Gwaine's nose is a miracle in and of itself.)

“You give me too much credit, dear Gaius. I lack the depth to hide such a troubled soul,” he says. He lies, and his lies are as smooth as glass. And they are just as transparent, apparently, because the old man just rolls his eyes and lets Gwaine go.

+

There is a part of Gwaine that _wants_... Oh, but _what_ does it want? It just _wants_ , and it worries at him, it tugs at him. It _wants_ and _wants_ and it will not rest until he does something -- _anything_ to make still it, to calm it.

That is why he throws himself in to the path of danger so readily, why he is so eager to drink recklessly and to _fuck_ all comers. He's also quite free with his tongue, but why not? He has got quite a talented one. A silver tongue, whispers a voice in the dark, and he exhales and says, _yes_.

Then he staggers home -- But what home would that be? Gwaine hasn't got a home, he never had a home, not since he was too young, too helpless to have lost it all, when his father died and his mother went mad. In truth, he’s been homeless so long that a pallet on the floor, warm and away from the rain, is as fine of an accommodation as he could wish for.

He swaggers somewhere -- _not home_ \-- wrecked and content.

It’s always been like this, for as long as he can care to remember.

+

It's morning when Merlin, who is really very sweet, comes in, determined to save Gwaine from himself. Merlin's nose, small, pink, twitches at the smell of coming from Gwaine’s general direction. Gwaine is a disgrace, the boy seems to say without opening his mouth. And so, Gwaine hauls himself out of bed, gropes around for something solid to stead him. Getting up, he stretches, arms akimbo and his chest puffed out. His body hums a tune, a tune of rude good health, in spite of the numerous abuses he's piled on to it. Merlin makes a little embarrassed noise, and Gwaine notices he is completely naked.

His thoughts are not quite his own, for he now idly considers trying to seduce Merlin -- _he’s always liked the look of the boy_ \-- forgetting that Merlin is, of course, the closest thing to a best friend he's got -- he should've ruin that by a clumsy pass, Merlin deserves more effort... This is when Gwaine finds himself pushed to a tub -- where did that tub come from, and why in the world was it sloshing full of steaming hot water? His protests are utterly squelched and he is scrubbed within an inch of his life.

“I’ve had a bath just last month!” He gasps as a bucket of cold water empties over his aching head.

“Monthly baths are good for _some_ ,” says Merlin, grimly determined, “But woefully inadequate for anyone who patronizes Fat Meg’s.”

"Oh, is that what that place is called? She's a nice woman, that Meg."

"Mmmm, not so nice now. She's suing you and the Knights of Camelot for property damage and emotional distress. And mayhem, whatever that entails. Oh Gwaine, what have you been doing with yourself?" Merlin finishes with a sigh.

Gwaine sinks into the tub, and considers the scummy water very carefully. He could drown here, he thinks, and all his problems would magically be over. Of course, it would sound terrible, if the great ( _the already great_ ) Sir Gwaine should drowned in his bath! He’d never live it down, _and_ then Lancelot would be the best Knight in Camelot.

Gwaine found that he really couldn't live (or die) with that. So he sighs, and consents to live.

+

It is late afternoon and Arthur is trying to keep his temper. He is still uncomfortable on the throne, and it shows. He squirms a little in his seat, and his fingers drum on his sceptre, which rests precariously on his left thigh. Arthur's unsettled attitude is making the courtiers nervous, and they fill the throne room with twittering of gossipy words. Ah, the speed of rumor is fast indeed. ("Did he _really?_ And with _that_...?") Gwaine is careful to stand still and quiet. He tries not to blink too much.

The silence lasts far too long.

Finally, Arthur explodes.

“Does your knighthood mean so little to you, Gwaine? That you would spend your nights in such … Dissipation?” His face does a good imitation of Uther’s thunderous glare.

Gwaine tugs his (freshly laundered) collar and stutters out an excuse of some sort, which Arthur waves off impatiently. Arthur thinks for a moment -- Gwaine can practically see the thoughts forming in his fair head.

With a great deal of dignity, Arthur booms out: “Ye shall go on a quest and regain your lost honor, Sir Gwaine. For a year and a day, ye shall ride and seek the true meaning of thy chosen office. Let it be noted.”

The scribes scramble to do just that.

Gwaine gives an awkward bow -- he is still hungover -- and manages to totter out of the throne-room without falling or vomiting, not even once.

The audience with Arthur could surely be called a success.

+

The day he leaves Camelot dawns bright and clear. Gwen, Merlin, and Gaius come to see him off. Gwen takes her goodbye kiss with noble good grace, and Merlin's ears go pink when he gets his.

" _Really_ , Gwaine," says Merlin, unable to hide his grin. Gaius mutters, "Where's _my_ kiss, young man?" He gives a startled laugh when Gwaine envelopes in a crushing bear-hug.

"That's enough, now, that's enough."

The horse that Arthur has graciously presented him with is a good one, milk-white and mild, by the name of Gringolet. Gwaine laughed aloud when he heard the name, but now Gringo and he are good friends.

Gwaine knows he cuts a dashing figure, armored and red cloaked, asride Gringolet. With a final nod to his friends, he heads out.

"Good luck! Come back to us in one piece!" cries out Gwen.

Gwaine bows - which is a difficult thing to do when seated on a horse and encased in armor - but he manages it.

"Don't do anything too stupid," offers Merlin.

"Not to worry, my lady! And I shall return to you all in a year and a day ... If I have not found a better place in the meantime."

 

+

 

He is miserable. There is no wine on this quest. All the monsters and evil knights seem to be far, far away from any half-civilized tavern. In truth, his quest takes him to parts of Albion that has not yet realized the secret to fermentation.

+

He does save some people. They are appropriately grateful. And some of the younger, prettier ones are more than grateful. But he finds that he must always leave in the morning, no matter how charmingly his partners cling to him.

+

He stays to bury the dead, and reminds himself that he cannot save them all.

 

+

He might have gotten married at one point.

Pagan harvest traditions are confusing things, and the rough blackish-wine made his head swim, not unpleasantly. And the girl, oh _the girl_ , is slim and dark-haired, with clever fingers, and she murmurs charmingly about phases of the moon or something similar and her eyes shine like the moon itself.

A most ancient tradition, she whispers in his straining ears.

 

He wakes up, naked and alone, the next morning. Mrs. Gwaine did not even leave a name or an address. As he tries to find Gringolet, Gwaine reflects that married life isn't for him.

+

The stars are very bright, this far north. But oh, their light does not warm. Gwaine throws his cloak tighter around himself. Gringolet noses his hair, and he’s grateful for the horse's warm breath on his face.

+

The ogre is just a _baby_ (in ogre-terms), and cries very hard for its mother. Gwaine finds that he cannot kill the thing, and instead releases it far from the village.

+

The evil Sir Oswe is soundly defeated, and fair Rosemunde does not have to marry him after all.

+

 

Sometimes there are travelers on the road, pilgrims from the south and merchants from everywhere. If they are quiet and respectful, they may travel with him for a time. Today, there's only one, a odd fellow with a Gallic name, Beurreblanc or Berdulac, or possibly Bredbeddlesomething. He's full of stories, and keeps himself wrapped up in a cloak most of the time. The most interesting story he's got is a rumor of a great lord who lives up north -- who is entirely _green_. Gwaine stops chewing on a blade of grass, and scoffs. How can a man living be green?

But his companion swears it to be true.

“Then tell me where I can find him!”

The traveler looks queer for a moment, and Gwaine’s stomach drops -- _magic!_ \-- but then Bredbeddle shrugs.

“You are not ready to face him.”

Gwaine sighs.

"Perhaps by Christmas..."

+

And just like that, when a year and a day has lapsed, and Gwaine comes back home


End file.
